


Your Assistance Is Required

by edna_blackadder



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 03:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17357702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edna_blackadder/pseuds/edna_blackadder
Summary: Anathema attempts to make her way in a non-Agnes-dictated world by ghost hunting. Death recommends seeking out a pair of consenting cycle repairmen.





	Your Assistance Is Required

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Macdicilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macdicilla/gifts).



The career option of professional descendant was no longer open to Anathema Device, but a quick glance through the want ads on the Monday that was the second day of the rest of her life would straightaway allay any worries about what might happen when her Agnes-assisted fortune petered out. Over the next three months, this brave new world would prove to have plenty of opportunities available for the practical occultist who knew where to look. Ghost-hunting might not have been exactly what she’d had in mind, but it would certainly pay the rent.

‘Evil spirits,’ Lady Cadogan had said. ‘They’re decimating my tourist business and they’ve got to be stopped.’

Anathema couldn’t be sure whether Lady Cadogan was the sort of person to know the nice and accurate meaning of ‘decimate’, but she gave the strong impression of never having needed to learn the meaning of ‘no’, at least as applied to herself. Anathema had almost enlightened her, but then she’d got a good look at Her Ladyship’s cheque, decided that could wait, and packed up her theodolite.

The leylines in the surrounding area firmly supported Lady Cadogan’s story, if such it could be called. That was the frustrating bit, Anathema thought, as she wandered through room after room, all opulent to the point of obscene. It would really help to know the Cadogan family history, to give her some clue as to just which ancestors might have reason to stick around after death, but Lady Cadogan had insisted that it was her husband’s family, not hers. She had no idea; this was what she was paying Anathema for, unless Anathema would prefer her to take her business elsewhere?

So Anathema had smiled and said of course not, she’d take care of it. So far the only occult thing about the place was its temperature, chillier than it ought to have been. But then a decidedly ominous wind blew about her shoulders from no obvious source, and Anathema zipped her coat up higher and approached the portrait on the wall. A young woman in Regency dress stared back at her, with dark hair falling to her waist and a mischievous look in her eyes. The plaque identified her as Miss Charlotte Steele, with an unfortunate lack of birth or death dates.

Anathema shivered as she opened the wardrobe, and then the desk drawer, but no spirit leapt out at her. She peered under the bed, then felt foolish as she remembered she was looking for something incorporeal, which needed no silly hiding place but would show itself when it wished. Deciding some reverse psychology was in order, she turned and walked, very slowly, out the door.

To Anathema’s disappointment, nothing followed her out of the room—but instead, as she passed the next bedroom, something met her. Something ice-cold and blinding, and Anathema barely registered that she was no longer in control of her suddenly running feet before they tripped over something that wasn’t there, and she tumbled down the ornamental staircase, screaming a scream that was not her own.

Whatever had possessed her left her just as quickly, and Anathema looked up to see a seven-foot skeleton who should have been an unfamiliar presence, but wasn’t.

‘Am I dead?’ she asked, and to her relief, he shook his head. Well, more like rotated his skull left to right in a distinctly negative fashion, but the effect was much the same.

IT IS NOT YOUR SOUL I CAME TO COLLECT, said Death, BUT AS YOU ARE HERE, PERHAPS YOU MIGHT DELIVER A MESSAGE.

‘A message?’ she asked, gazing into black holes of his eyes.

YES, said Death. YOUR ASSISTANCE IS REQUIRED.

‘I understand,’ said Anathema. ‘Of course I’ll help. What’s the message?’

AH, said Death. I SHOULD HAVE MADE MYSELF CLEARER. THAT WAS IT. YOUR ASSISTANCE IS REQUIRED.

‘Right,’ said Anathema, ‘and whose assistance would this be?’

YOU WILL FIND THEM, said Death, AT THE WORST BOOKSHOP IN SOHO. YOU WILL KNOW THEM WHEN YOU SEE THEM.

With that, wings sprouted from his cloak, if it was a cloak, and he vanished from sight. Anathema drew herself up to her knees. The worst bookshop in Soho, she thought. That isn’t much help. I can think of several and I’m not even from there. Also, I just met the Grim Reaper.

*

Crowley carefully parked the Bentley as illegally as he could manage, then wandered into Aziraphale’s bookshop, wine bottle in hand, when a Christmas wreath hung upon the door hit him in the face. He brushed it away, and then a particularly insufferable modern carol assaulted his ears. Crowley knew it well; he’d had a hand in the recording.

‘Aziraphale?’ he called, and the angel popped his head out from the back room.

‘Hello, my dear,’ said Aziraphale. He was wearing a red tartan jumper, complementing the shop’s decor in a most alarming fashion.

‘What’s going on?’ Crowley asked, without preamble.

‘Nothing’s “going on”, as you say, Crowley,’ said Aziraphale, just a hair too innocently. ‘I am merely getting into the spirit of the joyous holiday season.’

‘But this song, Aziraphale, really? I know you. This is exactly the sort of commercialised Christmas garbage you can’t stand.’

‘I will admit it isn’t precisely to my taste,’ said Aziraphale, ‘but one must create a welcoming experience for the customers—’

‘You sly devil,’ Crowley interrupted. ‘I see. Nothing repels would-be customers faster than this side of Christmas canon. I’m honestly impressed.’

‘Yes, well,’ said Aziraphale guiltily, ‘when you put it like that, perhaps it’s a bit much—’

‘Not at all,’ said Crowley. ‘I’ll just arrange matters so that we can’t hear it. Corkscrew?’

‘Oh, just miracle it open, I’ve forgot where we left it,’ said Aziraphale, and Crowley grinned and ran a hand over the bottle.

Three hours later they had emptied it three times over, and they were in the midst of a spirited debate about penguin biology when the shop’s bell rang.

‘We’re closed!’ Aziraphale hiccoughed, as though the intruder could hear him through the back room door—which she could, of course, because he believed it to be so.

‘Not anymore,’ she declared, pushing her way through the overdone decorations and plugging her ears against Sir Paul’s crime against humanity. ‘This is the place. I recognise the car out front. I gather you aren’t really cycle repairmen—’

Crowley sat up. He recognised the voice. ‘We’d better sssssober up,’ he hissed to Aziraphale, who nodded.

‘Way ahead of you, dear boy.’ Then he cleared his throat. ‘We’re in here, Miss Device.’

‘Thank you,’ said Anathema. She made it to the door just in time to see Crowley wincing as he focussed his sunglass-covered eyes on her. ‘It seems I’ve been asked to give you a message.’

‘A message?’ asked Aziraphale.

‘Yes,’ said Anathema, ‘from none other than the Fourth Horseman himself. He says, “Your assistance is required.” Now, do you think you could tell me who you are, or why I was asked to deliver that message?’

Aziraphale stared at her. ‘Azrael asked you to give us that message?’ he asked, with an arch tone that was positively professorial. ‘Well, dear lady, in order to answer why that should be, we are going to need a bit more context.’

‘Fine,’ said Anathema, ‘but I’m going to need a glass of wine.’

*

‘Well,’ said Aziraphale, after Anathema had recounted her ordeal, ‘it does follow that, as Agnes Nutter’s descendant, you would have been able to see Death when he came for the spirit that had taken temporary possession of your body, at the moment things would have ended for that spirit. But why he should think that we—’

‘Hang on,’ said Anathema, ‘you know that I’m Agnes’ descendant, but I still don’t know who you are. First things first, if you please.’

‘Dear lady, we are a couple of supernatural entities whom you once encountered in the midst of our desperate attempt to locate the son of Satan,’ said Crowley, with the air of someone who has said this, or something very like it, before. ‘I am a demon, my friend here is an angel, does that explain enough for you?’

‘It helps,’ said Anathema, ‘but have you got names, or am I just supposed to call you Demon and Angel?’

‘My name is Aziraphale,’ Aziraphale explained patiently, ‘and my friend goes by Crowley. Crowley, meet Anathema Device, the last living descendant of the prophetess Agnes Nutter, who appears to have inherited some fragment of her five-times-great-grandmother’s psychic gift.’

‘Charmed,’ said Crowley. ‘So you went to investigate a haunted estate, found yourself possessed by a soul who’s resisted Death’s attempts to collect, and he directed you to us.’

‘That’s right,’ said Anathema. ‘I was hoping you would know why.’

‘What I fail to understand,’ said Aziraphale, ‘is why the events that proved fatal to the poor soul possessing you were not equally fatal to yourself. Not, of course, that we aren’t most gratified to see you alive and well, but are you absolutely certain that the spirit did not leave you before Death appeared?’

Anathema shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. I fell down the stairs, and then I looked up and there he was. It hurt, don’t get me wrong, but I can’t imagine it killing someone.’

‘Unless, perhaps, that person was already weakened in some way,’ Aziraphale mused. He turned to Crowley. ‘Well, my dear, if we’ve been summoned, I suppose we had better investigate.’

‘It doesn’t look like we have any choice,’ said Crowley. If he had to choose between Azrael and Hell’s brass, he’d take the former, but he’d rather enjoyed three glorious months of no infernal communication whatsoever, and he wasn’t exactly chuffed for the end of respite. Not entirely to his surprise, Aziraphale looked equally apprehensive. It was oddly soothing.

*

‘Here,’ said Anathema, from the back of Crowley’s Bentley. ‘This is the place, come on.’ And not a moment too soon, given the demon’s driving habits. She’d nearly thrown up twice.

'Cadogan Manor,’ said Aziraphale, nodding towards the sign. ‘All right, are we all clear on the plan? Anathema will retrace the steps that led to her possession, I will employ a quick miracle to stop her falling, and then, Crowley—’

‘We interrogate the spirit through her,’ said Crowley. ‘We’ve got it, angel, now let’s get it over with.’

‘Yes, let’s,’ Anathema agreed. Any plan that required her to be the bait was, as a rule, not one of which she was inclined to approve. She crossed the threshold with grim resolution and shivered as she entered the house. ‘We have to go upstairs,’ she said, beckoning them. ‘I was in one of the bedrooms when I first felt a draft, but the possession didn’t start until I turned and left. Come on.’

Aziraphale followed at Anathema’s heels, Crowley lagging farther behind. ‘In here,’ he heard her say, as she opened a door. ‘There’s a portrait of a woman named Charlotte Steele in Regency clothes. I thought she might be our ghost.’

‘Could be, could be,’ said Aziraphale. Further ahead, Anathema entered the room and, as near as Crowley could tell, walked around it and right back to the door. ‘Ah, yes,’ said Aziraphale, ‘I felt the draft you mentioned. There is most certainly a presence here.’

‘OK,’ said Anathema, ‘ready?’

‘As we’ll ever be,’ said Crowley. ‘The question is, are you ready?’

‘I’d be a bit more so if you sounded more confident,’ said Anathema, and Crowley wished he had it in him to be offended.

‘I assure you, dear lady, you are safe with us,’ said Aziraphale, and Anathema nodded and stepped out of the room. As she passed the door to the next room, she took off running, her eyes suddenly wide with terror, and Crowley didn’t need to ask whether the plan had worked. Anathema tripped over nothing, and Aziraphale snapped his fingers, suspending her in midair. Crowley cleared his throat, strode as close to her as he dared, and desperately tried to summon a fraction of his usual swagger.

‘Er, hello…spirit,’ said Crowley, wincing at how he sounded.

‘ _Hello,_ ’ said Anathema in a voice higher than her own, which sounded confused, but not unpleasant. ‘ _Who’re you? Has she gone?_ ’

‘Crowley,’ said Crowley. ‘Has who gone?’

‘ _My stepmother,_ ’ said Anathema. ‘ _She was chasing me. Didn’t you see her?_ ’

Crowley turned to Aziraphale. ‘A wicked stepmother? How perfectly cliché.’ Aziraphale elbowed him in the side, then stepped forward.

‘So it was your stepmother who killed you,’ he mused. ‘Tell me, spirit, are you Charlotte Steele?’

‘ _What?_ ’ Anathema shook her head, and then she giggled. Aziraphale and Crowley glanced at each other, both thinking the same thing. Maniacal laughter, they could have handled, but childish giggling was another matter entirely, an eventuality for which they found themselves woefully unprepared.

‘ _Of course not, silly,_ ’ Anathema continued. ‘ _I’m James. Charlotte’s my stepsister, but she’s not here right now. She and Miss Anne went to see Reverend Barton._ ’

‘Er, James,’ said Aziraphale, ‘how old are you?’

‘ _I’m eight and a half,_ ’ said Anathema proudly, and Crowley groaned.

‘Oh, dear,’ said Aziraphale. ‘How absolutely dreadful, to have passed so young. Well, Master James, I assure you that Crowley and I will do everything in our power to seek redress on your behalf. Did you have a last request? Something we could do for you, to give you the peace you need to go on?’

Anathema stared back at him, her eyes wide with incomprehension. ‘ _I wanted a toy theatre for Christmas,_ ’ she said after a moment, and Crowley shook his head at Aziraphale.

‘All right, all right, it was worth a try,’ he said quickly. ‘Time to give Anathema her body back.’ He snapped his fingers, and she hit the ground with a thud, rolling down several steps before she came to a stop. Groaning in pain, Anathema looked up, and Death stared back at them.

LET ME GIVE YOU A HINT, he said. CHECK THE REST OF THE HOUSE, AND STAY TOGETHER.

‘Beg pardon, Azrael,’ said Aziraphale, ‘but why us? This isn’t exactly our…our domain, you might say.’

THAT WOULD BE TELLING, said Death, before fading from view.

Anathema glared at Crowley. ‘Did you have to drop me quite so—ooh,’ she broke off, as her bruises healed themselves. Aziraphale smiled indulgently. ‘Right. Thanks. Well, you heard the man, let’s try looking around downstairs.’

‘Just a moment,’ said Aziraphale. ‘How much of that were you aware of? Did you possibly get a sense of what young James was thinking, that perhaps he hadn’t the vocabulary to articulate?’

Anathema shook her head. ‘He was scared,’ she said, ‘and then he was confused. It’s as if he died so quickly he hardly even knew it happened. I don’t think there was much more you could have got out of him, at least without knowing the right questions to ask.’

‘Well,’ said Crowley, ‘we know who killed him, and that’s a start. I suppose we’d better try and find out who his stepmother was, and whether she’s lurking anywhere around here.’

‘An excellent idea, my dear,’ said Aziraphale. ‘An estate of this size must have a library. Perhaps it would contain a family Bible?’

Anathema nodded. ‘This way, I think,’ she said, pointing to the left of the sprawling staircase. Crowley attempted to catch Aziraphale’s eye, but the angel was already following her.

*

The cobweb-strewn library must have featured in Lady Cadogan’s tourists’ itinerary, but it could hardly have been among her star attractions. Dusty and dark, all it lacked was Miss Havisham’s wedding feast. It would have repelled all but the world’s keenest bibliophile—that is to say, any but Aziraphale, who wandered inside with his heart racing in anticipation. ‘Let there be light,’ he said, waving a hand before him. The room obeyed, now lit by an ethereal bluish glow, but stubbornly retained its sense of foreboding. Aziraphale scanned the shelves, Crowley and Anathema at his heels.

‘Aha,’ he said, after a few moments’ searching. ‘Here we are.’ He blinked, and the dust evaporated, revealing an ancient, tattered volume of Cadogans. He removed it from the shelves with the utmost care and laid it reverently on a writing table. ‘Steady,’ he murmured to himself as he sat down and gingerly turned the first page, vaguely aware of Crowley at his shoulder, tapping his foot with impatience.

‘For badness’ sake, Aziraphale, it isn’t a Lost Quarto,’ he said, but without much feeling. Then he turned to Anathema. ‘You said Charlotte Steele’s portrait had her in Regency clothes?’ he asked, and she nodded.

‘That’s what I thought,’ she said. ‘But you two would know better than I would, wouldn’t you?’

Aziraphale nodded absently, preoccupied with the first page of Elizabethan Cadogans. Crowley snapped his fingers, and the pages turned themselves at breakneck speed, leaving Aziraphale barely enough time to whisk his exquisitely manicured fingertips out of the way as they skipped ahead to the appropriate century.

Aziraphale glared at him. ‘Really, my dear,’ he said, but Crowley shrugged, unapologetic.

‘You can study up later,’ he said, ‘after we’ve got rid of James and got back to London.’

Aziraphale huffed, but did not argue further. Instead, he traced a line down the page of births and deaths with his finger. To his frustration, the Cadogan family evidently had at least one James for every generation.

‘Hang on,’ said Anathema. ‘James said his stepmother killed him, and Charlotte was his stepsister. Shouldn’t we be looking under marriages for a Cadogan and a Steele?’

‘How very astute,’ said Aziraphale. He blinked, and the book slowly, conscientiously adjusted itself to the correct page. There it was: James Edward Cadogan, married first in 1826 to Jane Beatrice Stanhope, ending with her death in 1832 bringing forth their son, James Stanhope Cadogan, and then married again in 1837 to Caroline Lydia Steele, with a margin note indicating the latter’s previous marriage to Robert Henry Steele, likewise deceased, and their daughter Charlotte Helen Steele, born 1823.

‘Crowley,’ he whispered, ‘look.’

Crowley squinted at the handwriting. Then, to get a better look, he sat down on the table, facing Aziraphale—

—and something met each of them, brutally chilly at first but then warm, too warm, and very much in control—

‘ _Good,_ ’ said Crowley, in a voice unlike his own, with a distinctly female lilt. ‘ _You’re still here. We need to talk._ ’

‘ _Ah,_ ’ said Aziraphale, in a voice equally foreign and female, with an undertone of distress. ‘ _I suppose best wishes are in order?_ ’

‘ _Beg pardon?_ ’ said Crowley. ‘ _Oh, right, the rumours. I could have used your well wishes hours ago, but I’ve waylaid Mr Howard into the bracken and Mr Livingston to the vestibule, so I seem to have come out unscathed._ ’

Aziraphale’s eyes seemed to stare straight through the sunglasses that, as far as the soul possessing him was concerned, weren’t there at all. ‘ _So you’re not engaged?_ ’ he asked, flushing madly.

Crowley shook his head, or rather, felt his head shaken, and he, too, flushed scarlet. ‘ _I proudly remain the despair of polite society,_ ’ he said, ‘ _but that’s not the point. Anne, my mother is trying to kill James._ ’

Aziraphale’s mouth opened, his face rapidly losing its bright red colour. ‘ _What?_ ’ he asked. ‘ _Charlotte, that is a very serious accusation—_ ’

‘ _I heard her talking to Mr Beresford, the apothecary,_ ’ Crowley whispered, ‘ _when I took a break from dancing. He asked her about James’ medicine._ ’

‘ _What medicine?_ ’ asked Aziraphale. ‘ _He’s always been rather delicate, the poor boy, but no one has never mentioned—_ ’

‘ _Precisely,_ ’ said Crowley. ‘ _Three years now he’s been my stepbrother, and in all that time we have simply taken it for granted that he is of a sickly constitution. Embrace him too tightly and you might break him. No one has ever said a word about any kind of medication for his condition._ ’

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. ‘ _You believe she has acted to withhold it?_ ’

‘ _Yes,_ ’ said Crowley, ‘ _and furthermore, it explains why she’s suddenly so frantic to see me wed. It would absolve her of the need to have a son herself. In the absence of a living heir, she would only need to convince my stepfather to will the estate to my husband, in the event that on my own, I should prove less than ideally compliant._ ’

‘ _But why should she fear that?_ ’ asked Aziraphale. ‘ _You love this estate. You’ve said repeatedly that you wouldn’t go back to living over a shop for a minute. Ignorant of her plans, why should you not wish to inherit it?_ ’

‘ _Ignorant of her plans, of course I would,_ ’ said Crowley, ‘ _but surely you cannot think so ill of me that I would long remain so? That I would forever blithely take her word, when I have never in my life enjoyed the luxury of ignorance of her overall character?_ ’

‘ _Of course not,_ ’ said Aziraphale in a rush, shoving his chair backwards and inclining his head in deference. ‘ _You know that I hold you in the highest esteem, Miss Steele._ ’

‘ _Oh, there’s no need for such offices,_ ’ said Crowley. ‘ _We both know you find me positively insufferable, as well you should do. I simply couldn’t bear it if you also thought me stupid._ ’

‘ _I assure you I never could do, however much I might wish it,_ ’ said Aziraphale. He gave a cough that was not his own, then shifted in his seat to gaze up at Crowley. ‘ _But what if you were to turn her wishes for you on her head? What if you were to—what if you were to take a husband quite outside her recommendation? Would that not help to foil her?_ ’

Crowley shifted, and swallowed. His left hand drummed its fingers against the table, while his right shifted, ever so slightly, towards Aziraphale.

‘ _What would you say to me, I wonder,_ ’ he said, with no small amount of apprehension in the voice that was decidedly not his own, ‘ _if I told you that of late I have felt a kinship, you might say, to one Gentleman Jack?_ ’

Aziraphale blanched, but somewhere the fog of his possessed mind he realised that he could not have turned away from Crowley even if he were in control of his body. At long last, his lips parted of their own accord.

‘ _As have I,_ ’ he whispered in a rush. ‘ _It has…the unholiness of it has tormented me, to no small degree, for so long—_ ’

But he, or the spirt speaking through him, broke off, because Crowley’s fingers had laced themselves through his, and now he leant close, so close—

Anathema had heard enough. She snapped her fingers, feeling that in this if nothing else, it might be a game at which she could play too. ‘Ahem,’ she said, and Aziraphale and Crowley turned, very slowly, in her direction.

‘Right,’ said Anathema, ‘can you hear me?’ They both nodded, looking deeply resentful.

‘Good,’ Anathema continued. ‘So you’re Charlotte Steele, and you’re Anne…’

‘ _Barton,_ ’ said Aziraphale. ‘ _governess to young Master James._ ’

‘I see,’ said Anathema. ‘So you resolved between yourselves to protect James?’

‘ _Could we possibly do this later?_ ’ asked Crowley, gazing longingly at Aziraphale.

‘Sorry,’ said Anathema. ‘but it is later. Over a century later. Could you tell me how you died?’

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged sorrowful glances, before Aziraphale swallowed. ‘ _We were run off the road,_ ’ he whispered, and Crowley squeezed his hand. ‘ _Trampled by horses at Lady Cadogan’s behest, and my own father’s indifference._ ’

‘You tried to run away?’ asked Anathema, and they nodded.

‘ _My mother discovered our interference,_ ’ said Crowley, ‘ _and then—_ ’

‘ _—we appealed to my father,_ said Aziraphale, ‘ _the vicar of the parsonage not half a mile from here. But he had heard from Lady Cadogan of our intimate connection, and he would not hear a word that we had to say._ ’

‘ _By the time we returned,_ ’ said Crowley, ‘ _my mother had evidently decided that desperate times called for desperate measures._ ’

‘The stairs,’ said Anathema, suddenly feeling violently ill.

They nodded. ‘ _We realised there was only one thing for it,_ ’ said Crowley. ‘ _We would have to flee._ ’

‘ _We called a carriage that very night,_ ’ said Aziraphale, ‘ _but we did not get far. We died not a mile off from here._ ’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Anathema. ‘Truly, I am. And we’re here to help you, I promise, but you’re going to have to give my friends their bodies back, at least for the time being. Can you do that, please?’

‘ _We could,_ ’ said Crowley, ‘ _but why should we trust you?_ ’

‘ _Charlotte,_ ’ said Aziraphale reprovingly, ‘ _I’m sure that Miss…_ ’

‘Device,’ said Anathema. ‘Anathema Device.’

‘ _Miss Device has the best of intentions,_ ’ he finished, shaking his head at Crowley.

Anathema cleared her throat, willing her voice to project a confidence she hardly felt. ‘Death himself called us to help you,’ she began, ‘and I’m the last living descendant of the only accurate prophetess in history. I know a bit about feeling trapped, as though everything’s already been decided for you.’

They gazed at each other. After a moment Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand. ‘ _Think of it like this,_ ’ he whispered. ‘ _If they fail, what have we really lost?_ ’

‘ _Oh, all right,_ ’ said Crowley wretchedly, ‘ _but kiss me, first._ ’

‘ _As though you need to ask,_ ’ said Aziraphale, and he closed the gap between them.

A moment later Anathema felt something shift. Crowley and Aziraphale broke apart in mutual shock, and she smiled in spite of herself. In a perfectly synchronised movement, they ran from the room, and she followed.

‘How many fingers am I holding up?’ Anathema asked, once the door to the library had shut and deadbolted itself behind them, and they both glared at her, glares unmistakeably their own.

‘Very funny,’ said Crowley. His expression would have sent any other human running for the hills.

‘I never knew that could happen,’ said Aziraphale, his face pale even in the dim light. ‘Did you, my—Crowley?’

‘What, that we could be possessed as easily as humans?’ asked Crowley. ‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Well,’ said Anathema, ‘now we know everything we need to know. All you have to do is recreate their deaths. You’ll survive because you’re you, and get to exchange whatever last words they didn’t. It seems straightforward enough.’

‘Hardly,’ said Crowley. ‘We are immortal, but our bodies aren’t. Trampled by horses? We’d be discorporated for sure.’

Anathema looked from one to the other, slowly registering the terror on their faces. ‘Discorporated?’ she asked at last, when neither volunteered an explanation.

‘We would be dispatched to the spirit world,’ said Aziraphale, ‘and thus at the mercy of our respective head offices to be issued new bodies and with them permission to return to Earth. And we, er—we have reason to believe that neither my people nor Crowley’s are particularly happy with us at present.’

‘Oh,’ said Anathema. ‘You mean…because you tried to stop it.’ They nodded as one, united in abject misery. ‘So…they might not let you come back. And you’d never see each other again.’ They nodded again, avoiding each other’s eyes. For a moment, Anathema wasn’t sure what to say.

‘Well,’ she said at last, ‘that must be the reason Death thought you could help. The ultimate forbidden love? They must relate to you. Naturally your people would object to your relationship—’

‘Our what?’ said Crowley, glaring at Anathema in a way that strongly suggested if that she had anything vitally important to say to anyone on Earth, she might want to say it now.

Aziraphale, for his part, blushed bright red. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you’re suggesting—’

Anathema grinned. ‘Oh, well done,’ she said, ‘but seeing as I’m not an emissary of Heaven or Hell, you can stop anytime. It was obvious to me even half-concussed.’

Crowley stared at her. ‘Are you suggesting that we—and what do you mean, it was obvious to you?’

‘You called him “angel”,’ she began, realising only as she said it where the misunderstanding had lain, but pressing on anyway, ‘which, OK, he is, but I didn’t know that. But how do you account for Death seeming fairly confident I’d find you together, which I did?’

‘We’re friends,’ said Aziraphale with exasperation, ‘which when you consider that we have known each other for six millennia, is not nearly as unusual as it might seem when our occupations alone are taken into consideration. Dear lady, we—’

‘Six millennia?’ Anathema interrupted. ‘At that point, does it even matter? Of course you´d choose each other.’

‘We chose Earth,’ said Crowley, ‘and you horrible, interesting humans. And I think dolphins fitted into it somewhere. But we certainly weren’t—’

‘OK,’ said Anathema, feeling that her larger point had got lost in the semantics of the thing. ‘All right, then, my mistake, whatever you need to hear. But you must see why Charlotte and Anne would identify with you. We just need to figure out why they’re still lingering here, and what you can do to set it right. Did you see anything helpful inside their heads?’

‘Not really,’ said Crowley. ‘She was angry, of course. Being murdered would do that.’ He paused, racking his brain for anything else. ‘She was a halfway interesting person trapped in a bloody boring time,’ he said at last. ‘I guess if I’d had no way out of the fourteenth century, I’d be pretty angry too.’

Anathema nodded. ‘That makes sense. Aziraphale? Did you get anything useful out of Anne?’

Aziraphale shook his head in a decidedly awkward manner. ‘Er, no,’ he said, ‘not as such. She is of course upset, as she has every right to be, but I can’t say that I learned anything beyond that. So far, the only viable option seems to be the one you suggested, which is, as we have established, impossible, given that it would discorporate us.’

‘Hmmm,’ said Anathema. ‘Are you sure you couldn’t just, I don’t know, take back control or something?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Aziraphale. ‘It was rather easier when I was the possessor, as opposed to the possessee.’ Anathema stared at him blankly, and he sighed. ‘The last time I was discorporated, I was forced to resort to desperate measures,’ he said, and she nodded.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘if you could, maybe we could use that to make sure you two come out all right. Manipulate events just enough. Maybe you could get them to drive off in your car instead of a carriage. You’d be protected from the hooves then, wouldn’t you?’

If looks could kill, Anathema would have been on a slab. Of course, in Crowley’s case, looks could kill, and the only reason Anathema wasn’t on a slab and was merely experiencing an unpleasant sensation of her blood running ice-cold, he insisted to himself, was that it probably wasn’t advisable to lay waste to their only ally at this juncture, even if she absolutely deserved it. It certainly wasn’t that he’d never actually had the heart for that sort of thing even before the Beginning. No, it wasn’t that at all.

Aziraphale gave him a reproving look. ‘I’m afraid he’s rather protective of the car,’ he said to Anathema, as her body temperature slowly returned to normal.

She glared at both of them. ‘Couldn’t you just heal it, like you healed my bike?’

‘No,’ said Crowley flatly.

‘Well,’ said Anathema, more than a little irritably, ‘luckily for you, I was already thinking we could use some backup. If you’re going to be Anne and Charlotte, there’ll be no one to hit pause on James’ demise, and he must still have a part to play, even if I can’t tell what. We need Newt and we need Dick Turpin.’

‘A salamander and a highwayman?’ asked Aziraphale.

Anathema snorted. ‘My boyfriend and his car. Which, since a certain Saturday, has been remarkably resistant to damage of any kind.’

Crowley and Aziraphale looked at each other. It didn’t strike either of them as a particularly good plan, but neither could think of a better one.

‘I don’t suppose he could bring Adam as well,’ said Crowley, and Anathema laughed.

‘You’re not alone in wanting a word with him,’ she said, ‘but I believe this is something called a school night, and we’re four hours away from Tadfield even without traffic.’ A triumphant grin spread across her face. ‘Plenty of time for you to get back in the library and practise wresting control.’

*

It wasn’t easy. After all, when you’ve been murdered horribly and then stuck for over a century as incorporeal spirits with no pleasures of the world open to you beyond the occasional chance to relive one of your only happy memories, naturally you’re going to resist interruptions.

It didn’t help that the sort of physical, emotional, and deeply human passion these spirits were feeling as Charlotte twined Crowley’s fingers through Aziraphale’s was a foreign sensation to beings of angel stock, as intoxicating as it was unnerving. Crowley felt his head being drawn down to Aziraphale’s, his eyes staring into the angel’s, wide with terror overcome by hope, and he found to his horror that he didn’t want to resist.

Then Aziraphale reached up with his free hand and wrenched Crowley’s sunglasses away from his face. It might be over-optimistic to say that the spell was broken, but it had certainly been put on hold. ‘I do apologise,’ Aziraphale began in his own voice, before Anne interrupted him. ‘ _As well you might,_ ’ she said, and Aziraphale shook his head. ‘Er, yes, well—Crowley?’

‘Present,’ said Crowley in his own voice. His arms folded across his chest with what felt like burning indignation. ‘Look, we’re trying to help you,’ he said. He felt his head shaken. ‘ _You can stop anytime,_ ’ said Charlotte. ‘You’re welcome,’ Crowley snapped. The trance, or whatever it had been, was broken now.

‘We have a plan,’ Aziraphale explained. ‘We’ve conferred with our, er, our colleague, and we think we might know how to help you, but it rather hinges on your letting us take the wheel—’

‘Literally and figuratively,’ Crowley muttered.

‘—at a pivotal moment,’ Aziraphale finished. ‘We just needed to be certain that would be possible, and we thank you very much for your assistance in this matter, but now I’m afraid we’ll need you to quit our heads once more until the moment comes. If you would be so kind—’

‘ _It would be a great help to us to know the particulars, if you please,_ ’ said Anne, in a tone as dangerous as it was prim and proper.

‘I’m not sure we can explain it without compromising the natural operation of causality,’ said Aziraphale.

‘ _How very convenient,_ ’ said Charlotte.

‘Didn’t you promise Anathema you’d trust us?’ asked Crowley, annoyed.

‘ _Yes,_ ’ said Charlotte. ‘ _Where has she gone?_ ’

‘How are you getting on?’ said Anathema, wandering into the room as if on cue. ‘Newt says he’s on his way. If you ask me, it’s not the spirits killing Lady Cadogan’s tourist business, but the bloody awful mobile reception.’

‘ _Tourist business?_ ’ asked Anne.

‘Oh, hello,’ said Anathema. ‘Yes, the present Lady Cadogan asked me here to sort out the problem of the two of you and James possessing her guests. I used to be a practical occultist and professional descendant, now I’m just the former.’

‘ _I thought you said Death himself called you to help us?_ ’ asked Charlotte, and Crowley felt his eyes narrow suspiciously.

‘Yes,’ said Anathema patiently, ‘after I was possessed by James. I saw him, and he told me to seek out Aziraphale and Crowley here. They’re an angel and a demon who tried, rather ineptly, to avert Armageddon.’

Aziraphale and Crowley stared at her, aghast, until their heads forcibly turned in the direction of each other. Then, entirely against his will, Crowley burst out laughing.

‘ _Right,_ ’ said Charlotte, between hearty guffaws. ‘ _If nothing else, we shall have something to talk about for the next hundred and fifty years we’re trapped here. What do you think, my love?_ ’

Aziraphale’s hands reached out to clasp Crowley’s between them. ‘ _If it pleases you so, my dearest Charlotte,_ ’ said Anne, ‘ _I shall not withdraw my agreement._ ’ Through Aziraphale’s eyes, she gazed up at Charlotte, who kissed her with Crowley’s lips.

After a moment both angel and demon became aware that they were once again free of human influence, and leapt apart as before, but with a split-second’s hesitance that not existed the first time.

‘Well,’ said Anathema, when the three of them were once again safely outside the library, ‘what should we do in the meantime? Explore the rest of the house?’

Crowley drew an unnecessary breath. At this moment he was only certain of one thing, and that was that he needed a drink. ‘An estate of this size must have a wine cellar,’ he said, glancing from Aziraphale to Anathema.

Anathema stared back at him. ‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea to—’ she began, before remembering just who and what he was. She looked between them, questioning. ‘Oh. Can you just—’

Aziraphale nodded. ‘We can sober up when needed,’ he confirmed, and for the first time all day, Anathema relaxed.

‘I see,’ she said, smiling. ‘Can you do that for me too?’

*

_‘The concrete dampens_  
With the crystalline snowflakes.  
Engage parking brake.’

Newton Pulsifer nodded absently and parked Dick Turpin directly in front of the grand doorway, per Anathema’s urgent instructions. He shivered as the snow brushed his forehead. He laid a hesitant hand on the doorknob and pushed, and he was surprised by how easily it fell open. That was the good surprise; the bad surprise was that it was no warmer inside than out.

‘Anathema?’ he called. ‘Anathema?’

There was a distant answering chortle. It might have been Anathema, or it might have been a ghost. Not that Newt believed in ghosts, necessarily, but upon getting a look at the sum Lady Cadogan had offered Anathema, he had instantly abandoned any plans he might have been making to argue the point. He shivered again, wishing he’d worn a hat, even though he had never quite been able to pull one off.

‘Anathema?’ he called again, venturing further into the house. ‘Where are you?’

This time there was a faint shout in reply. ‘Down here!’ he thought it had said, and unless he was much mistaken, it had been followed by a hiccough.

Newt sighed and pressed forward, making his way towards what he thought might be the kitchen, following the sounds of two unfamiliar voices, one ssssstrangely ssssssybilant and one camper than a row of tents.

Crowley and Aziraphale sat next to each other, surrounded by bottles. Across the table, Anathema was working on her second and trying in vain to focus on them.

‘Ten-ssssssixty-six,’ Crowley was hissing. ‘Battle of Haystack-er, Hastings.’

Aziraphale nodded. ‘William the Conquest-Conker-you know the one. He must’ve been yours.’

Crowley shook his head. ‘All human,’ he insisted. ‘Kicked off three centuries of the King of England speaking French. Hell would never have come up with that.’ He paused. ‘What was I saying?’

‘Something about fish?’ asked Aziraphale.

‘Right,’ said Crowley. ‘The fish market.’

‘What about it?’ asked Aziraphale.

Crowley shrugged. ‘Good fish market.’

Anathema had long since lost the thread of the story and so, if they were honest, had Aziraphale and Crowley, but they had never had an audience before.

‘Fish market?’ asked Newt, stepping into the cellar with a sense of dread quickly giving way to simple bewilderment.

Anathema brightened. ‘Newt!’ she called out, beckoning him. Then she turned back to the others. ‘Newt’s here,’ she slurred. ‘Time to do that thing.’

‘Do what thing?’ asked the man in sunglasses.

‘The thing you said,’ said Anathema. ‘You know. Make us sober. Snap, we’re all fine.’

‘Sober up,’ said the other man. He wore a tartan jumper even Newt would have had the sense to stay away from. He winced, sat up straight, and snapped his fingers at Anathema, who followed suit. A moment or so later, under their expectant gazes, the man in sunglasses sighed and did the same. Newt edged closer to the table and realised he’d seen them before, but couldn’t recall when or where. The man in the tartan jumper clapped his hands with a dramatic flair, and all of the empty wine bottles refilled themselves and resumed their places on the shelves.

‘Anathema,’ he asked, ‘what is going on? What just happened? Who are these people? And were you all just…just drunk, and then all of a sudden not drunk?’

‘In a word, yes,’ said Anathema. ‘You’ve missed a lot. Newt, may I present Aziraphale and Crowley, an angel and a demon respectively whom we last met shortly before the world didn’t end. Aziraphale, Crowley, this is Newt. Newt, I can give you the full story later, but right now we’re trying to send three spirits onwards, and we’re going to need an assist.’

*

‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale began, shivering. The snowflakes were growing thicker, blanketing the ground. ‘If we only get one shot at this, as it were—’

James’ scream rent the air. Five minutes, Anathema had said, just enough time for her to arrange things.

Five minutes. One hundred and fifty years. Six millennia.

‘Yes?’ said Crowley, looking paler than Aziraphale had ever seen him.

‘Crowley,’ said Aziraphale, ‘I don’t know how we’re going to do it.’

‘Just do whatever you did before,’ said Crowley, not looking at him. He was glaring at Dick Turpin. ‘You know, when you took my sunglasses off.’

‘But I don’t know how I did that,’ said Aziraphale wretchedly. ‘I only wanted to see your eyes.’

Slowly, Crowley turned around. The wind howled, whipping through the magnificent groves. Neither heard it.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Aziraphale. ‘I realise that now is, perhaps, not the moment to admit it—’

He broke off. Crowley had laid a trembling hand his arm.

‘Well,’ he said in a low voice, ‘we only want to survive, don’t we?’

Aziraphale nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and Crowley flung the door open.

Anathema lay face down on the stairs. They crossed over the threshold, and then their minds and bodies were, once again, no longer theirs, and that was not Anathema—

‘ _James!_ ’ they both screamed, in Charlotte and Anne’s terrified voices. They rushed to Anathema’s side, and Charlotte shook her with Crowley’s hands.

‘ _Please wake up,_ ’ she begged. ‘ _Oh, James, please don’t be—_ ’

Anne reached out with Aziraphale’s fingers, searching for a pulse, and Aziraphale could feel Anathema’s, but he knew that Anne could not.

‘ _Charlotte,_ ’ she said, her voice brittle and hopeless. ‘ _He’s cold, Charlotte._ ’

‘ _No!_ ’ screamed Charlotte, and in six thousand years it was hardly the first time Crowley had heard such a sound, but only once before had he come close to making it himself. Then he felt his head turn away from Anathema and his eyes narrow in rage as Charlotte stared at something he couldn’t see, but knew had once been there.

‘ _Anne,_ ’ she whispered, ‘ _look._ ’ Aziraphale felt his head turned upwards.

‘ _String,_ ’ she said, and then, ‘ _This was murder. And we’re going to be next._ ’

‘ _Not if we run fast,_ ’ said Charlotte, and the despair on Crowley’s face gave way to grim determination.

‘ _Where would we go?_ ’ asked Anne, gazing up at her wonder.

‘ _I don’t care,_ ’ said Charlotte, ‘ _as long as I’m with you._ ’

Aziraphale’s head bowed, and his hands found Crowley’s. ‘ _All right,_ ’ said Anne. ‘ _Let’s call a carriage._ ’

The next few minutes passed in a whirlwind of confusion as Charlotte summoned a servant who wasn’t there, but who had evidently promised a carriage right away, and a few moments later they heard the clatter of approaching hooves.

Crowley felt his hand seize Aziraphale’s as Charlotte and Anne rushed out the door. He could see Dick Turpin. Charlotte couldn’t.

And if he couldn’t direct her to it, he might never see Aziraphale again—

His free hand seized the door handle.

_‘Pure December snow_  
Buries the dirt roads ahead.  
Release parking brake.’ 

Crowley blinked. So did Charlotte. The quizzical look on Aziraphale’s face was at once Anne’s and his own.

Aziraphale recovered first. ‘As we told you before,’ he said in his own voice, ‘we’re here to help you. Carry on.’

The spirits looked at each other, and both angel and demon felt their heads nod. Crowley turned the ignition key.

*

Anathema didn’t hear the car pull away. She couldn’t have done, as ever since that Saturday it had run quieter than a mouse. But she was still psychic, and she felt the two spirits depart the premises. She rolled over onto her back and sat up, rubbing her bruised arms. Death stared back at her.

In all the excitement, she’d almost forgot about him. SO FAR, SO GOOD, he said, and vanished.

‘OK, Newt,’ she called. ‘You can come out now.’

‘Are you all right?’ asked Newt, hurrying in from the next room. ‘That—er, that looked painful.’ He extended a hand, and Anathema took it, allowing him to help her to her feet. She didn’t really need it, but it made him feel better.

‘It was,’ said Anathema, ‘but it won’t be this time. Ready?’

‘Not at all,’ said Newt. ‘The second step from the top, you said?’

‘Or maybe the third,’ said Anathema. ‘I’m not sure of the exact angle. Wherever you’d be best positioned to catch me before I hit the ground.’

They reached the second step. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ‘And then I take you to them?’

‘That’s right.’ Anathema climbed the remaining stairs and headed off down the hall, entering one of the bedrooms and then returning at breakneck speed, a stranger’s fear in her eyes.

Newt didn’t catch her, but he did break her fall.

‘ _Who are you?_ ’ Anathema asked him, in the nominally male tones of a small child.

‘I’m, er, a friend,’ said Newt. ‘Are you all right? Can you walk?’

‘ _Yes, I think so,_ ’ said Anathema. ‘ _You saved me, Mr..._ ’

‘Pulsifer,’ said Newt, trying very hard not to think too hard about any of this. ‘Newton Pulsifer. Er…James, was it?’

‘ _That’s right,_ ’ said Anathema cheerfully.

‘Right. James. I’ve been asked to take you to your sister Charlotte. Won’t be that fun?’ Newt cringed. He probably should have rehearsed that in his head, so as not to sound quite so much like a playground kidnapper.

Fortunately for him, James’ birth and death predated the phrase ‘stranger danger’ by over a century. ‘ _Stepsister, but we don’t care,_ ’ said James, waving Anathema’s hand dismissively. ‘ _But I thought she and Miss Anne went to see the vicar._ ’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Newt. ‘We’re, ah, going after them.’

‘ _Oh,_ ’ said James. ‘ _All right, then. Should I go and get my coat?_ ’

‘We haven’t got time,’ said Newt quickly. ‘Don’t we need to get away from, er—’ He broke off. It had all been explained to him rather hastily, and he was having trouble remembering the details. If he was honest, he was more or less still stuck on the part where their companions were an angel and a demon.

‘ _My stepmother,_ ’ James finished for him. ‘ _Oh, yes. Is she still upstairs?_ ’

‘I think so,’ said Newt. ‘And I don’t think it’s that cold outside, anyway.’ It was a lie, and Newt didn’t generally approve of lying to children except perhaps about Father Christmas, but he couldn’t think what else to do. He gently lifted himself and Anathema to their feet and held out his hand. ‘Come along, then.’

‘ _All right,_ ’ said James, slipping Anathema’s hand into Newt’s.

*

Crowley was not used to driving slowly, although the snow helped a bit. He wished that more would fall, and that Charlotte would quit turning all the way around to look behind them, even if a nineteenth century woman could hardly be expected to understand what a rearview mirror was for.

‘ _Do you hear something?_ ’ Charlotte asked Anne, and Aziraphale felt himself freeze in fear. He couldn’t hear it, but he knew it was there.

‘ _Hooves,_ ’ whispered Anne.

‘ _Bugger!_ ’ Charlotte screamed, slamming Crowley’s hand against the steering wheel in fury. Anne shook Aziraphale’s head sadly, as though once upon a time she might have objected to the use of such language, but there were no such strictures left in her now.

‘ _We tried,_ ’ she said, and Crowley’s hands clutched the steering wheel in a vicelike grip. He didn’t know whether he or Charlotte was doing this, and he didn’t care. Something was pushing against the driver’s side of the car. Something like the weight of several invisible horses and an equally invisible carriage, determined to dislodge Dick Turpin from the narrow country lane, its curves entirely too sharp.

He was shaking. It was one thing to know what he had to do, but quite another to be here and actually do it.

Charlotte turned to Anne, and Crowley’s hands found Aziraphale’s. Thank somebody, because he wouldn’t have been able to keep them away from the wheel otherwise. The phantom carriage pushed harder, and Dick Turpin, effectively driverless, skidded into the snow and tumbled, upturned, into the ditch. Aziraphale fell against the passenger door, and Crowley fell into Aziraphale’s arms, and they held each other.

They couldn’t hear the clatter of hooves, but they could feel them pounding against the driver’s side. The door should have been crushed and the window shattered, but they weren’t.

Anne and Charlotte stared at each other through Aziraphale and Crowley’s eyes.

‘ _I’m sorry, my love,_ ’ Charlotte whispered. ‘ _I should never have suggested this. I should have acted rationally. I should have—_ ’

‘ _No,_ ’ said Anne. ‘ _No, my dearest Charlotte. I will not hear this. It is I who am to blame._ ’

Charlotte shook Crowley’s head. ‘ _You are too good, Anne,_ ’ she said. ‘ _But the impulse was mine, and therefore, so must the fault be._ ’

‘ _But we would never have been reduced to such an impulse,_ ’ said Anne, ‘ _had I not insisted upon appealing to my father. I should have known what he would say. The signs had been there for years, but I ignored them, in the foolish hope of being so, as you say, good._ ’ She pronounced the word as though it were laced with cyanide. ‘ _You knew better. You saw through him as you saw through your own mother. You warned me, and I ought to have known you were right. Had I just put my faith in you, who alone ever deserved it, perhaps I should not have failed you and James both._ ’

‘ _Oh, Anne, do not do this to yourself,_ ’ said Charlotte, her voice breaking. ‘ _Yes, I saw through my mother, who was never anything but cruel to me in all my life. No great insight was ever required for that. No, my love. Cynicism and wisdom are not one and the same, no matter what I might have said on the subject to shock in high society._ ’

‘ _Cynicism may not be wisdom,_ ’ said Anne, ‘ _but wilful blindness is surely the epitome of foolishness. That was my crime, and I cannot be acquitted of it._ ’

‘ _I love you,_ ’ said Charlotte, ‘ _and if it will give you peace, I will say I forgive you. But I do not believe that you need it._ ’

‘ _And I love you,_ ’ said Anne, ‘ _and if you wish it, I in turn shall grant you absolution that you in no way require._ ’

Charlotte nodded Crowley’s head, and Aziraphale and Crowley felt their lips drawn together once more. Their bodies pressed as close together as physically possible, which could never be close enough.

There was a knock at the window. Charlotte and Anne broke their kiss, and they gasped as one. Standing outside were Anathema and Newt.

‘ _James?_ ’ cried Charlotte, gazing at Anathema in shock and, Crowley realised, hope. Judging by Anathema’s expression, James was equally delighted to see them. Newt looked less than amused at the state of his car, but he reached over and opened the door anyway, and James made his way inside. They moved to accommodate him, and he settled between them.

‘ _James,_ ’ said Anne, ‘ _oh, James. We are so, so sorry._ ’

‘ _What for, Miss Anne?_ ’ asked James.

‘ _Everything,_ ’ said Charlotte. ‘ _We ought to have seen it sooner, and been cleverer when we did._ ’

‘ _We should have taken much better care of you,_ ’ said Anne. ‘ _We should not have been not so wrapped up in ourselves._ ’

‘ _We are so sorry,_ ’ said Charlotte. Crowley and Aziraphale noted the foreign sensation of tears welling in their eyes.

James shrugged. ‘ _That’s all right._ ’ He looked around. ‘ _This is a funny sort of contraption, isn’t it? Are we going somewhere?_ ’

Charlotte and Anne looked at each other, and Anathema felt each of them take one of her hands. ‘ _Yes,_ ’ said Anne. ‘ _Yes, I rather think we are._ ’

THANK YOU, said Death, appearing before them in the snow. IT’S ABOUT TIME.

_‘All’s well that ends well,_  
From here to eternity.  
Please turn car upright.’ 

*

‘Crowley,’ said Aziraphale, apropos of nothing, an hour into the ride back to London. ‘My dear, I am so sorry.’

‘What on Earth for?’ asked Crowley, trying to focus on the road, and absolutely not on anything else.

‘You know,’ said Aziraphale with evident frustration, ‘the real reason Azrael put this problem to us. The reason Anne related to me, such as she couldn’t have done to anyone else.’

‘You’ve lost me,’ said Crowley, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. Not for all the trappings of Earth would he have looked at Aziraphale, but Aziraphale, of course, looked at him.

‘You don’t know?’ he asked, disbelieving. ‘How did you think I wound up discorporated?’

‘Know what?’ asked Crowley. ‘I assumed it had something to do with your shop having morphed into an inferno.’

‘After I’d worked it out about the identity of the Antichrist, I contacted Up There,’ said Aziraphale, ‘before I attempted to contact you. I knew, deep down, exactly what would happen, and the bugger of it is that in my heart I wanted to tell you, to choose you and never look back, but my courage failed, as it were, at the pivotal moment.’ He paused. ‘I thought you knew. I’ve had to live with that every moment since.’

‘Car, steer yourself,’ said Crowley. He turned to Aziraphale. ‘You made up for it later,’ he said, willing himself to sound nonchalant, ‘with your realisation about the Great Plan not necessarily being so Ineffable. As near as I can tell, that was the only thing either of us managed to contribute in the end, and it was all you.’

Aziraphale shook his head. ‘You are very kind, my dear.’

‘Am not,’ said Crowley automatically. ‘But if it’ll get you to drop this, then you’re forgiven. Or whatever.’

‘Would theirs have been our fate, do you think?’ asked Aziraphale. ‘Had we been so isolated?’

Crowley shrugged. ‘We were so isolated.’

‘Precisely,’ said Aziraphale. ‘We owe our survival, and that of the Earth, to the fortuitous actions of others with whom we unknowingly shared a common goal. Alone, we surely would have lost.’

Crowley nodded. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘and you know that was my fault, right? Seeing as how I fled the hospital in terror? If I’d had the stomach to properly supervise things, maybe our original plan would have stood a chance.’

Aziraphale smiled. ‘Water under the bridge, my dear.’ He extended a hand, and Crowley took it. He had a question, but he would need more time to find the courage to ask it. He turned back to the road.

They drove the rest of the way in silence, holding hands, finally arriving in the first light of dawn. ‘Crowley,’ said Aziraphale hesitantly, taking in the sight of what was definitely not his bookshop.

‘Come upstairs,’ said Crowley, having forgot to breathe an hour before.

Aziraphale nodded, looking as nervous as Crowley felt. The tension between them in the lift could have been cut with a knife, but then again, this is broadly true of all tension in all lifts, a fact on which Crowley had long prided himself. They entered Crowley’s luxurious flat and sat down together on the sofa, and Crowley waved a hand. Soon each of them held a glass of most excellent brandy, and the speakerless sound system was playing a soothing Vivaldi.

‘What did you mean earlier,’ said Crowley, with no small amount of trepidation, ‘when you said that you wanted to see my eyes?’

Aziraphale sighed. ‘You must know,’ he murmured, addressing the opposite wall. ‘I felt everything that Anne was feeling, and I must confess I was quite overcome. I had entirely forgot about the plan and all of that. I only needed, urgently, to know whether you were equally in thrall.’

Crowley leaned back, and removed his sunglasses. He set them down on the coffee table, and then he leaned forward, drew Aziraphale close, and kissed him. For having spent the last six thousand years not kissing Aziraphale, he found he was becoming quite used to it. After a moment or so he pulled back, opened his eyes wide, and gazed into Aziraphale’s eyes.

‘Does that answer your question?’ he asked. Aziraphale beamed, and then he kissed Crowley.

*

To any being neither occult nor ethereal, what happened next would appear ordinary, even artless. This is because any being neither occult nor ethereal would fail to notice the white-hot fusion of thought and touch, engulfing both angel and demon in an all-consuming sensation at once sacred, sinful, and entirely human.

What Crowley was thinking, and broadcasting with every desperate touch, was this:

Do you know what I do when I tempt people? I look into their minds, into their souls, and give them what they truly want. And right now, angel, every desire in your head is for me, and I beg you to let me oblige you. Wasn’t it your friend Oscar who said the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it? Yield with me. I want to give you everything you want. It’s my temptation too. I want you, Aziraphale.

And Aziraphale’s equally desperate thoughts, broadcast quite as loudly through his own hands, were these:

You once indicated to me that you could neither sense nor understand love. But we aren’t supposed to have free will, either, and look how that’s turned out. You are nothing short of a wonder, braver and better than you’ll ever admit and that’s all right, you don’t have to admit to anything. But I am determined to leave you with no doubt that I love you, Crowley, nor any confusion as to what it might mean, because no one deserves it more than you.

‘Well,’ said Aziraphale, after they had collapsed against one another, ‘we’ll have to do that again sometime.’

It was several more moments before Crowley spoke.

‘We’re not done yet,’ he said at last. ‘It’s time you learned how to sleep, angel.’

*

One week later, Aziraphale and Crowley half-sat, half-lay curled around each other on the couch in Aziraphale’s back room, sipping steaming cups of mulled wine and staring, when they could take their eyes from each other, out the tiny, smudged window at a near whiteout of London. Between the weather and the closed sign, they ought not to have been disturbed, but nonetheless, the shop’s bell rang. Crowley arranged his face into his most practised glare, but dropped it when the customer lowered her hood and peeled the scarf off her face.

‘Hi,’ said Anathema, leaning against the doorframe. ‘I’ve got something for you.’ She drew an envelope out of her purse and held it out to them.

Aziraphale smiled warmly at her. ‘Do have a seat, Anathema,’ he said, nodding at an armchair across from them.

‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘but I won’t be staying long. This is your cut.’

‘Our what?’ asked Aziraphale. ‘Oh. Er, thank you, but we don’t really need—’

‘I know,’ said Anathema, ‘but it was a three-person job. Four if you count Newt’s part. Five, I suppose, if you count Death’s hints, but the point is that I couldn’t have done it without you. I just thought, you know, fair’s fair.’

‘Thank you,’ said Crowley, grabbing the envelope from her before Aziraphale could refuse a second time. It was true that they didn’t need money, but you never knew when it might come in handy, and as far as he was concerned, she was quite right that they’d earned it.

‘You’re welcome,’ said Anathema. ‘There was, erm, one other thing. I was wondering if you two might like to come round for Christmas dinner.’

Crowley and Aziraphale stared at Anathema, and then at each other. ‘Ah,’ said Aziraphale after a moment. For himself he saw no harm in accepting, but he didn’t want to speak for Crowley, and the demon appeared to be suffering from some sort of temporary stoppage of cerebral functions. ‘Well,’ he continued, ‘that is very kind, of course. Obviously, we wouldn’t wish to put you out in any way—’

‘I should warn you,’ said Anathema, ‘that until this year I was too busy with nice and accurate prophecies to ever learn to cook a turkey, and I’m not sure the oven at Jasmine Cottage could handle it even if I knew how. So it’ll just be wine and Chinese take-away.’ She paused. ‘All the wine you like.’

At this, Crowley promptly recovered, and he didn’t need to verbalise his agreement for Aziraphale to pick up on it. ‘In that case, dear lady, how can we refuse.’

‘Just one condition,’ said Crowley. ‘Absolutely no ghost stories.’

Anathema grinned. ‘None whatsoever,’ she promised, ‘but I’d love to hear more about the Battle of Haystack.’


End file.
